My New Tattoo

March 15, 2008

According to a Pew Research Center survey conducted in 2006, 40% of Americans aged 26 to 40 have a tattoo. I am not one of them.

But it is not for lack of trying.

Tattoos have become part of the American commitment to the development of the personal brand. And like a good American, I am ready to self-indulgently brand myself so that I can proclaim my coolness to all those fortunate enough to get up close and personal with the top of my ass.

But injecting ink under your skin in a visually appealing way so as not develop a Staph infection or look like a 1920s longshoreman is not as simple a task as one would think.

I am in LA, where there are more tattoos than parking spots and some of the most famous tattoo parlors in the world. Consequently, I really didn’t think getting a tattoo would be so challenging.

My first stop, the Shamrock Social club on Sunset Blvd. Having never been “inked” before I was a bit nervous, but I took the ample parking behind the building as a good omen (especially for LA). None of the artists were around, but I was able to ask the super cute shop manager, Cody, about the potential of getting a particular piece of art on my lower back. Now the vibe of this place is great. They have a well used pool table in the front of the space and a relaxed Social Distortion vibe. Plus I like the idea of it being a club, I mean, I want to be a member of the cool tattoo club, right? Unfortunately, Cody uttered the words that five hours later have become the spoiler to my tattoo dreams.

“It is gonna need to be bigger”

Now the actual tattoo of my dreams is not important, you should just know I was hoping for the intricate design to be about 1” tall by 3” wide.

The picture below puts the original artwork into perspective relative to a dime.

Art version #1

Bigger huh? I can do bigger. I thank Cody and head up Sunset to shop #2, Sunset Strip Tattoo. I couldn’t get much more Hollywood unless I had been on a three day cocaine bender and had Tequila on my breath.

This shop was not as vibey as Shamrock, but Paul (an actual tattoo artist) was very kind to give me a brief “tattooing 101” lesson. Seems that not only do I need to go bigger, but I need to go MUCH bigger. The font involved in my design is really intricate and involves variations in width throughout the script. Plus the kerning (that is the space between the letters) is really tight. If I don’t go larger, the tattoo might eventually turn into a muddled series of horizontal lines across the top of my ass. Yea for me!

Version #2 below, it is starting to push the the limit of body real estate I am willing to brand.

Art Version #2

I have to also mention that there was a dog hanging out at Sunset Strip Tattoo. I mention this because the dog was not a pit bull, or rottweiler or even a good natured lab, but rather a surprisingly perky carmel colored poodle. Nothing says hard core, Sunset Strip, rock-and-roll tattoo parlor like a carmel colored poodle. Tattoo irony.

My 3rd stop was the Disneyland of all tattoo parlors, Kat Von D’s High Voltage Tattoo made famous in the TLC series”LA Ink”. The first thing you notice about High Voltage is the set design…a near perfect mix of Betty Page’s boudoir, Smog City Roller Girls merchandise table, Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater and the MAC counter at Macy’s. It is actually nicely put together, complete with velvet ropes and a skateboard ramp. After waiting in line behind the phalanx of heavily lip-glossed, t-shirt-purchasing nineteen year olds from the midwest, I was finally able to talk to an artist, “Mojo”, and once again I heard “it’s going have to be bigger”.

In this final version it is important to note that the copier at the tattoo parlor didn’t have legal sized paper so the picture below is only the left half of the tatto.

Art Version #3

Mojo was really nice, and in spite of the spring break crowd amassing at the door he took the time to discuss some possibilities. Editing the script down, changing the tattoo, moving it to a different part of the body…otherwise in his expert opinion the tattoo really needs to be about 6” by 12”…like a license plate above my derriere. By this time I was beginning to understand why there are so many butterflies out there hovering over girl’s asses. I was also a bit disappointed to hear that the tattoo would be about $600 at High Voltage compared to the $300 at the other two shops. But then Disneyland is incredibly expensive, and just like at High Voltage, the t-shirts are an extra $25. I have to think that the “sell-out” vibe of High Voltage is easily soothed by fat paychecks and lines of groupies.

So after trying to become a walking billboard for my personal neurosis, I think I will take the advice of Paul at Sunset Strip Tattoo and head “back to the drawing board”…literally and figuratively.

I may still end up with a tattoo, but I figure I need to enter into such a big commitment the old fashioned way.

That is to say, after binge drinking in a foreign country.


East to West: A Journey Across LA

March 14, 2008

I grew up in a fairly small town, and as a child I never really thought much about buses or mass transit. A few kids rode the school bus, and I was always a bit jealous. You know, in the way you were jealous of the kid who was fortunate enough to break his arm on the playground. Seems like such a designation of specialness…although I’m sure the school bus riding kid and the broken arm kid both felt is was more of a burden of specialness.

My first experience on a public bus involved my great grandmother. She was this beautiful southern women who always carried a real cloth handkerchief. On very rare days, she would put on her white kit gloves and her pill box hat and take me on the #9 bus up Cervantes Ave. to the University Mall to buy orange sherbet cones. Since Great-grandma didn’t drive, ever, she would give me 35 cents, and I would climb onto the bus in my flip-flops and Destin Beach t-shirt.

It all seemed quite cosmopolitan at the time. Amazing how we glorify stuff in our childhood.

So now I spend a good part of my life in that black hole of Mass Transit called Los Angeles, and at this instant I am wondering if my grand experiment of traveling from Pasadena in the east to Santa Monica in the west will even get started.

My bus is late.

Mass Transit is this strange combination of having the time to take a journey that is bound to be unduly long, and watching the clock every minute wondering when your transit will come. After a short two minute walk, I have found myself sitting (thankfully) on a shady bench, waiting on a bus that is exactly 19 minutes late.

There is a sense that everyone driving by is perhaps laughing at me. “Look at that silly girl thinking that the famous public art piece “PASADENA BUS STOP” (complete with green peeling paint bench and Metro 256 sign) actually has anything to do with a real bus.

Pasadena Bus Stop

Hmm, 23 minutes late, no bus.

Good news, just saw a bus…bad news, headed in the wrong direction! At least I am not sitting at a public art installation.

Bus now 35 minutes late. I can verify this with my iphone’s wireless connection to the Metro’s mobile site. Kinda makes it worse.

39 minutes late. I wonder what my bus waiting threshold for pain is???

I see the bus!!!

I am on the bus having forked over my $1.25. It is not nearly as exciting as I had hoped, not surprisingly it’s mostly hardworking low-income folks. This bus is also more like those buses you catch at the airport and not the gritty urban canvas of humanity I was hoping for.

I have also realized that writing on the bus in making me motion sick. Throwing up on the bus would be bad.

Important element of mass transit, running to catch a train.
Just made the Gold Line train which will take me into downtown LA. In the spirt of full disclosure I should tell you that I didn’t have time to buy a ticket. I feel a bit bad about it. I don’t often get to purchase a train ticket, and I was looking forward to the automated exchange.

So I learned a few things on the bus.
#1 Fellow bus riders with whom I share a common language are actually quite nice and helpful
#2 The bus is hot and stuffy, like the waiting area of the DMV
#3 When taking the bus make sure the nearly hour wait is relative to the mile journey…I could have easily walked to the station.

Trains are a fairly new thing in LA, well actually that is not exactly true. LA used to have some great train routes, and trolley routes and all sorts of transit similar to San Francisco, but like all good transit ideas, the auto capitalist of the early 1900’s made sure LA was a city of cars.

Next stop Union Station…I have been to the Art Deco gem that is Union Station a few times before. It reminds me that public works projects which value good design and architecture can transcend.

Union Station is big and reminds me a bit of the train scenes in the Harry Potter movies. I spend a good 20 minutes just aimlessly wandering around looking for Metro bus information.

Union Station

While asking the security officer, who was the only person near the Information Kiosk, where I could catch the Big Blue Bus to Santa Monica, I saw the Big Blue Bus driving by an obvious bus stop about 100 yards away. It was easy to see because it is literally a big blue bus.

Big Blue Bus

According the the timetable, I have about 30 minutes to kill, and since I am now in downtown LA and have already been called “white girl”, I will put away my computer and ignore humanity with my ipod.

So the Big Blue Bus was fairly uneventful, but once again hot and stuffy. I have now arrived at my destination on the west side and the proximity of the ocean can be felt in the air. Cool breezes which I like to think have traveled from the south Pacific.

So here are the final statistics:

Travel distance: 19.6 miles
Cost: $3.00 (of course I did steal the train ride)
Time: 2 hours and 35 minutes

Not a horrible way to spend a sunny Thursday, but I am glad I have a car…and I wouldn’t mind a orange sherbet cone.